Ghost's run
by Funkmaster21
Summary: Ghost is on the run again. Being chased by an agent through the meta-city can sparks lead our hero to escape?


Ghost leaped over fence after fence, desperately dodging bullets from a gun he knew all too well. Skidding around an alley corner, he raced through the narrow walls dodging old boxes, dumpsters and trash. A bullet narrowly missed his exposed head as he ducked under a low neon sign.

Gasping for breath he suddenly reached the end of his run at the point of a dead end. A metallic fence far too high to climb in time to dodge the bullets he knew were coming. He had no choice. Unholstering his own pistol from the folds of his long trenchcoat, he turned to face his assailant.

The gun, deftly whipped out from it's holster and aimed with precision and practiced expertise fired without a moment to spare. The round missed, hitting nothing but air and brick, leaving the gunshot to echo through the alley and city. The agent chasing him wasn't where Ghost had predicted. The moment of confusion was short-lived. The agent appeared from around the corner, his weapon aimed almost perfectly. Another round clipped against the wall behind Ghost, mere centimeters from ripping skin and bone from his head. Ghost's aim was more exact. His pistol fired again, if he had fired at any other man, his eye and his life would've ended in a gorey explosion. But this was an agent. The agent whipped aside almost faster than Ghost's eyes could see. He had no choice. He fired again .

Round after round, he pumped into nothing but air, the Agent grinned as he advanced slowly. A rare moment of panic crossed Ghost's face as the chamber pulled back for the last time on his pistol. His last bullet was spent, rending the gun useless. He subconciounessly dropped the worthless metal to the floor as he desperately thought of his next move. The agent was closer now, was he enjoying the game? Ghost couldn't remember an agent ever sadistically torturing a red-pill. He was out of options. His phone, long forgotten in the folds of his coat rang, without thinking and with lightning speed Ghost picked up. "Sparks" He casually answered.

Sparks' voice came through clearly on the earpiece, "Boxes on your right. Ground-level window." His voice was calm and collected. Ghost responded without hesitation, his trust in the operator absolute. He dashed out towards the agent in a ruse, the agent responding by running towards him in turn. Ghost swerved to the right and slid with his foot outright in front of him towards some cardboard boxes. He hoped that the boxes were light or empty, but his trust in Sparks remained. His trust was reinforced when his foot connected with the cardboard and they exploded out of his way, one spilling it's contents of packing styrofoam. Behind the boxes his foot collided with a window that burst open with barely any resistance. Ghost's legs followed the shattered glass inside of the building's basement, and he managed to pull himself inside. The remaining shards of glass still on the window cut and gouged along his skin, just as the agent reached the boxes. But the cuts did little to slow him down. He wasn't safe yet.

He hit the ground running and the chase was on again. He sprinted through the basement and the objects themselves seemed to move to avoid the lightning fast weaving. He hit the stairs and leaped up three at a time and barrelled through the door leading outside to the rundown, abandoned house without a thought. Now wasn't the time to be considering anything. Charging through the house he leaped over a table and through another larger window without stopping to check the height. Thankfully it was a good distance. He rolled as he hit the solid cement and sprinted away from the house, he turned to see if he was still being followed. No sign of the agent. He breathed a sigh of relief but knew agents rarely gave up. After a few moments of running he needed a rest. Turning a corner he relaxed against another run-down wall and suddenly remembered his phone again. He called it. "Operator" Came the reply, his tone was more agitated than before. "Sparks. Get me an exit."

"Room 203," came the reply, "hotel on the corner of 23rd along this road." The phone went silent. Sparks wasn't in the mood for conversation often. Ghost peered out from the corner to look back the way he came. The agent was nowhere in sight. Ghost knew the hotel. It was close. But something at the back of his mind told him the agent was close too. It only took one bluepill to notice him and the agent would be on him again. Maybe more. But it wasn't time to think about it, it was time to move. He ran out from the corner he was hiding in, dashing down the road. Just as he passed 21st the familiar weapon's gunfire rang out through the streets again. A bullet richocheted from the ground a foot behind Ghost. There wasn't time to look back. He turned again and shoulder charged a door on his right, smashing into what looked like a disused office building. Another bullet cracked off the door frame behind him. He rapidly made his way through the darkened building and once again began leaping up stairs, this time towards the roof.


End file.
